


miss the dawn (we've not yet broken)

by ThisUsernameTaken



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Gen, Goodbyes, Hopeful Ending, Karasuno, Light Angst, Post-Graduation, i dont know why ao3 puts a space after all my italics i dont kn o w -, is this how symbolism works, overuse of semicolons probably, tryhard prose
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-04
Updated: 2019-03-04
Packaged: 2019-11-09 03:50:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 781
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17994305
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThisUsernameTaken/pseuds/ThisUsernameTaken
Summary: A key slots in; twists, turns.The doors fling open, ones that they had drawn so many times before, shut and open, dawn and dark. The doors fling open, the lights are struck; daylight shines through the windows, over spaces where the nets should be, dust motes echoing in the ghostly squeak of shoes and rubber only they can hear. The air stirs, a quiet weighted melancholy.--It's the edge of spring; the edge of this and the rest of their lives. The stars in summer await.





	miss the dawn (we've not yet broken)

**Author's Note:**

> is this even chronological??? third year melancholy ahoy

It’s the edge of spring, scattered sakura petals falling into a pink crackle brown carpet that crunches softly beneath their feet, the green of budding leaves and the crisscross sky that filters in between the cap to a world that was ending, ended, gone and beginning all over again. 

 

It’s the edge of spring, the breeze through their hair a whisper of summer, of bright and future and the held breath caught in your throat before the plunge, a gradual sinking sort of float in the liminal space of this and the rest of your life.

 

It’s the edge of spring, the path to goodbye and one to anew; but not entirely, not ever so sappy. It’s the edge of spring, and their petal laden steps draw them to where they had breathed those last three years; where they would soon abandon. 

 

They’d visit, of course; what else was to be done - what with missing it (them) terribly, and everyone else just the same - they’d visit, of course, but they couldn’t go back. Not really.

 

A key slots in; twists, turns. 

The doors fling open, ones that they had drawn so many times before, shut and open, dawn and dark. The doors fling open, the lights are struck; daylight shines through the windows, over spaces where the nets should be, dust motes echoing in the ghostly squeak of shoes and rubber only they can hear. The air stirs, a quiet weighted melancholy. 

 

The doors fling open, steps that had been so sure now apace to that of a hesitant desperation, slow circles as they take it in. And they know they don’t have to; not really- it’s here how they left it; as if they’d never left at all, and there’s the last edge of spring, the throes of summer. There’s time yet. 

They take it in, doors flung wide. They’re not quite ready to close them. 

It’s silent.

 

Lashes flutter over heated cheeks, clumping together with a cloying sort of wetness that runs into their smiles, distorts them to anything but. Sag from the weight of every unsaid thing.

 

Distantly, distantly, sounds the snap of crumpled paper. 

 

This was ridiculous. They- they were ridiculous. You don’t wrinkle your diploma, you don’t shed tears over a dusty old gym. You don’t mourn for something not yet gone, negative goatee and all.  _ You have time _ , they tell themselves. Even as they say it, it slips away, cascading through callused fingers like the traitorous spill down their cheeks.

 

A laugh, then. An unhappy sound, bubbling up as if in reassurance, choking into denial. 

 

Ah, sentiment. 

 

_ It was too young an age to be jaded yet _ , whispered no one in particular, nothing at all. 

Perhaps another answered, perhaps they did themselves; thought and heart and tear rising up to meet a great collective throng. 

 

A whisper back, faint and trailing.

 

_ There is no limit to goodbye _ .

 

How many had they said today? Numbers and faces, niceties and sincerity.  _ No limit. _

 

No limit to sky and half realized nostalgia, henceforth and starshine.    
  


They fall into each other, slowly; all at once. 

 

Outside, the blossoms part, fall. Dance upon the breeze, flutter through the door-frame in a pale cast; alight over hardwood, softer than breath. Already were they fleeting; already the fall from grace. But there was growth beyond them yet; crisscross skies, homorebi in the dawn.

 

Summer was conclusion and closing doors; genesis and boundless sky. It was a contradiction; the tears in their eyes, the lightness of laughter; a damp breathlessness in inexplicable emotion.

 

It’s unclear how long they stand there- slide to ground with limbs entangled, warm. Eternity in a breath, pocketed in time as the sky slants gold. 

 

It’s the edge of spring; the setting sun one step closer off the precipice to level ground. Bumps in the road were a certainty, crests and depressions, a rise and fall like waves. Yet that was beyond them; or perhaps they were beyond it.

 

A flock of crows rise from the trees in a great black flurry of wings, dissonant cries among the rustling of branches as it scatters petal and feather across a watercolor evening. 

 

Another goodbye, a fare ye well. 

(They would be there just the same tomorrow, over landline and tree branch, picking through garbage, picking fights.) 

 

It was almost symbolic.

 

Red rimmed eyes track their movement from the windows, tear tracks drying down their faces as the last gleam of black disappears into cloud and sunset, velvet over unveiled constellations.

 

_ They’ll be alright _ , it seems to say. The sky would always darken; if only to give way to dawn. 

There’s a fading warmth over their skin that tastes of summer.

**Author's Note:**

> high five if you made it! or a kudos. or a comment giving me a high five. or-- nothing. that works too. i dunno, anything tangible. it's all up to you.


End file.
